The Pupil in Denial
by Lasso the Moon
Summary: "Alright, Romeo, when are you going to ask her to dance?" "Who said anything about dancing?" Evelyn sputtered, looking away in embarrassment when she made eye contact with him. "She just saw you, now you have to ask her. Besides, if you don't, I certainly will." Evelyn reminisces about how he and Mary first met as he watches another dance twelve years later.


_Dancing_. It had been such a commonplace, natural thing for Evelyn, something that he had felt rather dispassionate toward, something he had _had_ to do, but had not particularly liked. He had been taught to dance with as many women as he could at every ball during the season, in hopes that one would be his future wife. Of course it had never been easy. During his first season he had been nervous at the prospect of asking a lady to dance, especially the stunning chocolate-eyed debutante in the center of the ballroom.

_"That's the Earl's daughter—Lady Mary Crawley, I think her name was. Beautiful, isn't she?" His friend Henry had commented, sipping his wine. He chuckled when Evelyn didn't respond, his blue eyes wide with wonder and the fascination that came with what the poets would call love at first sight._

_"Beautiful is too common a world." Evelyn found his voice enough to say. "And so is lovely. Radiant, or ethereal. Otherworldly…" he trailed off, his eyes following her as she floated—for she was an angel, a goddess, how could she do anything else—through the crowd. _

_"Alright, Romeo, when are you going to ask her to dance?"_

_"Who said anything about dancing?" Evelyn sputtered, looking away in embarrassment when she made eye contact with him._

_"She just saw you, now you have to ask her. Besides, if you don't, I certainly will."_

_His friend didn't have to say another word, because Evelyn had handed him his drink and gone off to do just that._

The night they first met was still fresh in his mind as he watched her—yet again, watching—dance with Lord Gillingham, laughing with him, gazing at him as if he was the only man in the room, and he gazing at her as if she were the only woman. He sat, like the friend he was, happy for her, happy that she had started living again—always happy _for_ her, and never _with_. Nor would he ever be happy with her. He had given up, years ago, after telling her he called off his engagement to Sarah Semphill. She had seemed surprised, but not curious, never curious enough to ask—so he had not told her, that it was she that filled his dreams, that it was her that he loved more than anything or anyone else in the world, that it he could never be happy apart from her. He had tried to be happy once, and had failed. He had tried to forget, after he read the announcement, not speaking with her or any other member of her family for those two years, even moving to America for one of them. Then his father died, and he received a letter from her, from Lady Grantham. Then her sister had died, and he had written his own letter of sympathy. Finally, her husband had passed, and he had written a heartfelt summary of his condolences.

He had heard from her mother a few weeks ago, inviting him to this house party with a famous American jazz musician, Jack Ross. He had been surprised to receive an invitation, but eagerly accepted, if only to see Mary. What would she say when she saw him, with his cane, a reminder of what he had been through in France? She had received him warmly, but she had always seemed to gravitate toward Gillingham, always Gillingham, always someone else, and never him—the loyal friend, the good listener, never the beau, the fiancée—

"What _are_ they playing now?"

Evelyn looked up in slight surprise when the Dowager Countess sat down next to him. He smiled in greeting and tilted his head in thought. "Come to think of it, I don't recognize this one." He had been to a few jazz clubs in America, but he was not as taken with it as some were. He couldn't remember mostly because of how upset he was, how useless he felt. In the past he might have tried to interrupt, to ask if he could cut in, so that _he_ could be the one holding her for once. "Is this your first experience of jazz, Lady Grantham?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from Mary for a moment—only a moment.

"Oh, is that what it is? Do you think any of them know what the others are playing, hm?"

He blinked and his attention once again shifted, cocking an eyebrow at her comment before realizing that she was joking and smiled in amusement. "I never took Lady Mary for one that would be fond of jazz." he stated, his eyes falling upon her once more.

"What are your intentions concerning my granddaughter?"

Evelyn's eyes immediately left the object of his affection and stared at her grandmother in surprise. "I'm…I'm sorry?"

"Love is nothing to be sorry for, Lord Branksome."

"I…Lady Grantham, I don't know what to say…" he fumbled with his words embarrassedly, his ears reddening as the old woman observed him with a knowing smile.

"How long?"

"Ten years." he admitted with a sigh.

"And you've said nothing?"

He shook his head, keeping a rigid mask over his face as he watched the pair whirl around the floor. He could never do the same, not with this leg…

"I can assure you that your feelings have not gone unnoticed by nearly everyone aside from Mary. It's only a matter of time before she finds out. But would you rather it be from yourself or someone else?" With that, she rose and left him, his mind bogged down by the urge to stay where he was and let things go on the way they had in fear he would be found wanting, along with the opposing desire to pour forth a confession he had perfected in his mind over the years, but never uttered to anyone.

"Lady Mary? I'm sorry to interrupt." His feet had moved, automatically, without thinking, without evaluating the consequences, and he swallowed as she gazed up at him in silent shock. His eyes shifted to the less-than-genial eyes of her partner, and from his outrage he gained strength. "May I have the next dance?" So what if it hurt? He would endure any sort of pain—physical or otherwise—for her, as he had for years. For a dance, for a chance to gaze into her eyes as if she were the only woman in the room, it was but a small price to pay.


End file.
